


The Peppered Wall

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Mycroft's Character is Underestimated, POV Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Shooting Guns, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sherlock is always so right<em>.</em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Peppered Wall

Mycroft was feeling quite vexed at the moment—as usual, at his brother Sherlock. His brother had refused to help him find the government’s missile plans. This only further solidified Mycroft’s long-ago conclusion: _nothing_ on the earth was more galling than Sherlock’s arrogant countenance, snide comments, and disinclination to following directions.

Now Mycroft’s blood was boiling as he paced along his bedroom. Not even growling his favorite profanities and downing a glass of whisky could soothe Mycroft this time. At last, fraught and enraged, the elder Holmes brother took up the handgun he stored in his dresser and began unloading a round into the wall.

With each shot Mycroft could hear his little brother’s infuriating voice, saying infuriating things. _He's so_ right _. He’s always right, and he just loves to rub that sore spot on me, doesn’t he, with all that rightness!_

Mycroft felt it all return. Every minute, every second he was with Sherlock he could hear the subtext in his brother’s voice. “Putting on weight again?” _Of course you are, I’m right_. “How’s the diet?” _Terrible, isn’t it? Of course it is, I’m right_.

Once the barrel stopped smoking Mycroft realized what he’d just done. He was rather astonished by it, but even after he blinked a few times the bullet holes remained. All at once Mycroft paled. He had noticed the bullet holes in the wall of Sherlock’s flat. Surely placid John Watson wouldn’t do such a thing. Now Mycroft had to wonder: was Sherlock rubbing off on him?

“Oh, almighty heavens, I hope not,” Mycroft gasped, and jumped at the sound of his own voice. Feeling suddenly disconcerted, he jammed the gun back into its dresser drawer. With a groan Mycroft flopped onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow.

To think Sherlock once wanted to be a pirate.


End file.
